


(Interlude) Sunstreaker - A Blink and A Loss

by fuzipenguin



Series: Half Your Age +7 [30]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers Generation One
Genre: Anal Fingering, Established Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Open Relationships, Other, Pining, Praise Kink, Rimming, Twincest, reference to off screen rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 00:48:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19712914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin
Summary: Sunstreaker keeps seeing Rung because the small psychiatrist reminds him of Sideswipe. But that has it's downsides too...





	(Interlude) Sunstreaker - A Blink and A Loss

“I would like to try something,” Rung announced.

Sunstreaker shuddered and swayed on his hands and knees as the words were murmured directly against his valve pleats. He folded down onto his forearms and scrunched to the side a bit, trying to look at the small mech behind him. Rung’s head popped up above Sunstreaker’s aft, his glossa making delicate sweeps over his shiny lips.

“… yeah?” Sunstreaker croaked.

As if in answer, one of Rung’s fingers trailed up Sunstreaker’s slit, gathering lubricants as it went. Then the tip circled Sunstreaker’s aft port, rubbing lightly over the cover. Sunstreaker stiffened, and he rocked forward slightly, away from Rung’s hand.

“No?” Rung asked. His voice was even as he waited for Sunstreaker to respond. Sunstreaker knew from past experience that if he said ‘no’, Rung would move on. He respected boundaries while also having a surprisingly astute intuition as to when Sunstreaker actually wanted those boundaries pushed. Only Sideswipe had ever been able to read him better.

Which might be the reason why he was with Rung for the ninth time in two weeks.

“… hn.”

Rung’s orbital ridge arched. “That’s not an actual word, Sunstreaker.”

“… saw a mecha bleed out from there after several guys raped him. Turned us both off the idea of even trying,” Sunstreaker finally said, hearing the echo of his screams in his head.

They had been young, far too young to help, yet they had still tried. Their small fists had been ineffective against the mech’s attackers, and Sideswipe had earned a cracked optic from the brief fight. After his rapists had had their fun and left him there, crumpled in a heap in their alley, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had curled around him, offering what comfort they could as he slowly offlined.

So, yeah. Not the best first experience with aft ports.

“Ah, I see,” Rung said. His hand landed on Sunstreaker’s hip, rubbing a soothing circle into the armor there. “I can…”

“But I’ll let you try,” Sunstreaker said in a rush, twitching his lower half closer towards Rung. He was far older than Sunstreaker with a great deal of interfacing experience. He’d already done some things to Sunstreaker that he’d never have thought of, things that had nearly made him swallow his own glossa. So Rung very likely knew what he was doing. 

And If Sunstreaker hated it, he could always tell him to stop.

Rung gave him a warm, approving smile, one that made Sunstreaker’s lines tingle. It had taken Rung less than ten minutes to figure out that Sunstreaker had a praise kink. It didn’t even have to be actual words although Rung could be a chatty little fragger sometimes.

Probably just to see Sunstreaker squirm, knowing him.

“Thank you. Let me know if anything is not to your liking,” Rung instructed. His hand slid back over, still damp finger brushing against the edge of the aft port cover. Sunstreaker shivered and turned around to stare down at the berth, letting his optics lose focus.

“…k,” Sunstreaker added after nearly a minute. Rung disliked Sunstreaker’s tendency to forget his words so he did his best to remember to give verbal confirmation.

“Good boy, Sunstreaker,” Rung murmured, his words barely audible. The pad of his thumb rubbed over Sunstreaker’s cover in little circles, sparking up a mild heat in his lower belly. It definitely didn’t hurt so Sunstreaker triggered the protective piece of metal to transform aside. A cool puff of air caressed the port for a moment before Rung’s thumb brushed across it.

Sunstreaker’s vents stalled and he shut his optics, losing himself to the soft touches of Rung’s fingers. Rung continually dipped his hand down to gather more of Sunstreaker’s valve lubricants to the small opening and massaged them in.

It was different than his valve. His processor wasn’t wired to expect pleasure from this port, so it took a while for Sunstreaker to relax. Once he did, Rung gave him another minute more and then gently pressed a digit tip into the opening. He let it lay there until Sunstreaker relaxed out of his instinctive clench. The sensation was… odd.

“All right, Sunstreaker?” Rung’s voice floated up from behind him and Sunstreaker nodded before remembering Rung probably couldn’t see it.

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good. I’m going to go a little further.”

“… ok.”

Rung withdrew the digit slightly and then pushed it deeper. He paused, and then repeated the motion again and again until Sunstreaker found himself rocking back into each small thrust.

“Do you like it?” Rung asked. His other hand flirted with Sunstreaker’s anterior node, making his valve tighten down on nothing. The ripple of his calipers tightened his port as well, and Sunstreaker shuddered. He didn’t understand how he felt so full when it was only one of Rung’s fingers.

Rung had tiny fingers!

“… yeah,” he said faintly. “More?”

“Of course, my dear,” Rung murmured.

The finger went deeper, began moving faster, and Sunstreaker’s vents started back up with a vengeance. It was a completely different sensation than his valve being fingered, a slight burn surrounding the pressure building deep inside him. But Sunstreaker found that he liked it and he relaxed his upper body, presenting his aft better.

A pleased hum behind him stirred the slowly growing knot of pleasure at the base of his spinal strut. Soon another finger traced over his entrance and he spread his knees further making an encouraging sound.

Two digits stung a little, but several circles around his anterior node made it fade in no time and he arched into the penetration with a happy sigh. Sunstreaker didn’t think he could overload like this, but it certainly made his valve feel hypersensitive. Even his spike was leaking more than normal, twitching against his abdominal plating.

A disappointed whine eked out of him when the fingers suddenly withdrew and then left him completely. His port rim spasmed down on nothing and Sunstreaker started to speak but the words come out in a garbled moan as a hot, wet glossa took the fingers’ place.

A mouth pressed against him, the glossa plunging deep into his port. It seemed to caress every inch of his inner walls, lighting up tiny sensory nodes that the fingers had missed. Sunstreaker rocked back against the mouth, moaning encouragingly and processor reassessing the earlier thought that he couldn’t overload from this alone.

“Yeah… yeah, that… good,” Sunstreaker murmured as lips fastened around his rim and _sucked_. His head drew up of its own accord, back arching as the delightfully sharp sensation spread through him. “… more…”

The mouth worked him over, glossa thrusting in and out of him in a mimicry of the earlier fingers, but hotter and smoother, and oh so good. He distantly realized that his hands were clenched into the berth cover, his body twisting and squirming in an attempt to get the glossa deeper.

Then several fingers plunged into his valve, caressing under the anterior rim and making Sunstreaker see stars behind his optic shutters.

“Yes, yes…” Sunstreaker chanted, urgently rocking back against the hands. “… good, it’s…”

_…good, so good, Sides, don’t stop, more…_ he begged, his mouth occupied with gnawing a bunched up roll of the bedding. He was perilously close to overload all of a sudden and he didn’t know what he needed to tip over the edge… he just knew that he wanted it and he wanted it badly.

“Our relative sizes might permit me to spike you here, if you would like to try.”

Sunstreaker froze at the words because that wasn’t Sideswipe’s voice. It was too high and Sideswipe didn’t talk like that and their bond was cold and practically empty except for a low level, indistinct presence at the other end.

A wretched cry of loss burned its way up out of Sunstreaker’s throat and he dove forward off the edge of the bed, spinning to land on the floor in a crouch. He looked up to see Rung staring back at him with wide, surprised optics, his glistening fingers held up in mid-air.

“… Sunstreaker?” Rung asked carefully after a long moment of silence. “Sunstreaker, are you all right?”

“You’re not Sideswipe,” Sunstreaker replied, voice and gaze accusing. For some reason, he was trembling and it was instinct to hide the shake of his fingers by clenching his hands into fists.

Rung tilted his head to the side and considered him, making no other motion. “… you are correct. I am not Sideswipe. Do you know who I am?”

“Rung,” Sunstreaker scoffed. He had never met a mech the same shade of orange as Rung; based on that alone, he would never forget him. “Of course I know who you are.”

Rung was silent for several seconds before he slowly lowered his arms. “Very good, Sunstreaker. Are you hurt?” he asked carefully.

Both his valve and port stung a little but Sunstreaker knew that had been his own fault and not Rung’s. As soon as he thought about it, his covers snapped closed protectively. “No.”

“That’s a relief,” Rung said, with a sigh. “You thought I was your brother?”

Sunstreaker flinched back as if struck, because somewhere in the middle of all that, he had.

“I… you…”

He had no idea how to explain how his traitorous processor had mixed the two people up. He didn’t even understand it himself. One moment he had been fully cognizant of the fact that it was Rung behind him and in the next, he thought it had been Sideswipe. And he had fully given into the illusion, the tight hold he constantly had around his spark loosening in hope.

“I suppose that is a compliment,” Rung mused. Then his gaze sharpened. “Sunstreaker, you are shaking.”

Sunstreaker realized that his denta were clacking together and he was swaying in place. For some reason, he couldn’t seem to stop. “… oh… sorry…”

“There is no need to apologize. Why don’t you come back up onto the berth?” Rung suggested, patting the top of it invitingly. His lubricant covered hand gleamed in the overhead light, and Sunstreaker turned his head, swallowing rapidly.

“I… I think I… can I clean up first?” Sunstreaker asked, suddenly aware of the wetness trickling down his inner thighs. It burned and he only refrained from scrubbing at it with his hands through sheer force of will.

“Of course. You can use my washracks while I straighten up out here… would that be alright?” Rung offered. He gestured towards the non-descript door set in the corner of the room that Sunstreaker had always thought was a storage closet.

But Rung was one of the few psychologists left on Cybertron and had been rewarded a minor rank. It made sense that there were some perks that went along with it.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Somehow, Sunstreaker made it to his pedes. Somehow, he walked across the room without tripping over himself. He even somehow managed to completely wash and rinse his frame before the shaking overtook him and he slid down the wall and landed on his aft in a sprawl of limbs. Rung peeked in a moment later, and frowned when he saw Sunstreaker pressing a balled up fist against the armor covering his spark.

“Oh, dear,” he said softly. “Sunstreaker, may I come in?”

“Th-there’s not a l-lot of room,” Sunstreaker replied, gaze locked on the opposite wall. He couldn’t meet Rung’s gaze, ashamed at the loss of control over his own body. And processor. “But, s-sure; your ‘racks after all.”

Rung stepped over his legs and crouched down in the small space between Sunstreaker and the back of the ‘rack. Uncaring of the cleanser still streaming down from overhead, he curled around Sunstreaker, a hand sliding along his shoulder until he could cup his nape. A gentle tug had Sunstreaker instinctively turning to press his face against Rung’s scrawny chest, the viewport warm beneath Sunstreaker’s cheek.

Rung’s sparkbeat wasn’t Sideswipe’s, but it was somewhat familiar and the band of panic constricting Sunstreaker’s throat loosened a fraction.

“W-we’re not made to be apart like this,” Sunstreaker murmured in apology. “W-we both get w-weird after a while. And Sides is w-worse, apparently. Oh, Primus… how in the pit is S-sides managing? He’s probably doing something s-stupid right now. He’s going to m-mess up… he’s going to m-mess up in the middle of a fight and get hurt or die and I won’t be there for him… I’ll be s-stuck here, an entire planet away…!”

“Shhhh…” Rung stroked down the outside of Sunstreaker’s arm and kissed the top of his helm. “Shh… I’m sure he’ll be fine. Just as I’m sure you will be as well.”

“I’m sorry… I’m s-sorry, Rung,” Sunstreaker mumbled, still somewhat cognizant through what he realized was a bit of shock. “I’m making you take your w-work home with you.”

“There is nothing to be sorry about,” Rung said soothingly. “And you are not work. You are a friend, whom I am comforting in a time of great stress. Just rest for a while, Sunstreaker. Rest. You are safe and so is your brother.”

Rung had absolutely no way of knowing that, but for some reason, Sunstreaker believed him. So he turned further into Rung’s embrace, hiding himself from the world outside of the washrack. He turned off all by the most basic programs and functions and forced himself into a recharge with the sound of Rung’s spark beneath his audial and warm cleanser beating down onto their frames.

At least in recharge, he didn’t have to think about what was missing.

\--

Sunstreaker was a heavy, cumbersome weight pinning Rung down to the washrack floor. He doubted he would be able to even squirm out from under him. But as Rung continued to stroke the back of his fitfully recharging lover’s helm, he found he didn’t mind. Not if it provided the troubled mech some much needed comfort.

Rung’s optics flickered as his processor worked overtime, discarding solution after solution.

“This will not abide,” Rung murmured, placing a light kiss atop Sunstreaker’s head. “ _I_ will not let it abide.”

~ End


End file.
